I had trouble falling asleep last night and went downstairs to sit on the couch for an hour, alone in the dark, while my wife, children and cat were dreaming.
I sat there under a blanket, consumed by fear. I’m blessed with things many can only dream of, but last night I was afraid. I was afraid to loose it all.
It struck me, as it has many times before, that the fear of loss and love are two sides of the same coin. I don’t think it’s possible to really care for someone without the fear of loosing that person lingering somewhere in the background. Sometimes perhaps barely noticeable, but always present. A dark current running underneath joy, a bitter sweetness, adding fullness to the experience of living.
Throughout the ages philosophers have tried to overcome the fear by detaching themselves from the emotions of life, but this is a fool’s way. You can try to stop caring deeply about people, or things for that matter, but what kind of existence would that be? A life of reason is only half a life.
If you want to love you have to pay a price. That price is fear.